


Eyebrow Game Too Strong

by Doitsuki



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Drabble, Elves, Eyebrows, Non-Human Humanoid Society, Spiritual, hey thats a cool tag, lets see what it does
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 15:30:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4671809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doitsuki/pseuds/Doitsuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eyebrows on Elves = Status. The thicker, the better, the higher, the sexier.<br/>Prompted by Anon on tumblr. :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyebrow Game Too Strong

It was late in the Third Age when Elrond decided to hold a council. Many important matters needed to be discussed among the elves, who knew their time in Middle-Earth was ending. Who would leave and who would stay? Elrond wanted to know. It could help him decide his own fate before he began to fade. Not that he saw himself doing that any time soon.

On the second-floor balcony of his house he stood like a statue, gazing out at the world. People were arriving down below and light chatter in different dialects reached his ears. With fondness he remembered Thranduil, the little prince he’d seen do battle a few thousand years ago. He did not know him well, but had heard stories of him from travelers.

_‘I hope he is not too troublesome.’_ Elrond thought to himself, leaning over the balcony railing to feel the warm sunshine touch the back of his neck. It really was a perfect day to gather friends and family for a nice chat. It was also the time of Eyebrow Judgement. Lindir reminded him of this fact by appearing out of nowhere and tapping him on the shoulder.

“Milord, your eyebrows.”

Elrond turned to see his servant dressed in a light blue robe with dark purple accents sweeping the curves of his slender form. In one hand, Lindir held a fine golden comb with diamonds set into the handle. His cool gaze went up and down Elrond’s body, suddenly fixating on his Lord’s face. Elrond sat on a bench nearby and gestured for Lindir to start his work. In silence, Lindir stroked every single hair of Elrond’s brows into place until their slight fluffiness became a dark, severe point. Angled down, they made Elrond look angry even when he wasn’t feeling anything at all. Lindir envied those brows and could not help but despise his own, which were thin and arched in a constant state of disapproval.

“There. You are ready to attend the council, I hope?” Lindir stepped away and offered Elrond a mirror, which he produced from one of the many pockets in his robe. Elrond twisted his face around, and once certain that his brows would not fall off or get unnecessarily ruffled, he stood.

“Yes. Be near if any of the guests need anything, will you? And don’t stare too much.” He left to walk through the halls of his house, adjusting his dark red outer robe so that it flowed behind him for an extra bit of majesty. A sliver of white silk was visible from the inner layers of his clothing, and he had to admit he felt a little hot and bothered, walking so fast in such warm weather. But none of that mattered. He would sit soon in the cool space where he had a round table and high domed roof with excellent ventilation. No more stuffy, boring meetings would happen in Rivendell. After his last council, he was determined to make this work.

By the time he got to his seat, he realised just how noisy it was with everyone speaking of what had been going on in their distant lands. Galadriel and Celeborn paid close attention to Erestor as he told them of what the Men in Bree had been up to, while Glorfindel bothered Legolas with increasingly sexual advances. The only one who didn’t seem keen on socializing was… Thranduil. Elrond took one look at the Elvenking and nearly shat himself.

_‘B..by the Valar… those… **THOSE EYEBROWS**!” _ Sitting upon Thranduil’s face were two of the most glorious statements of hair Elrond had ever seen. Not even Gil-Galad’s eyebrows (famous in the First and Second Ages for their high fabulosity) could compare to this. Thranduil’s brows were much like his father’s, luscious and thick with such a heavy density to them it seemed as if they had crawled out of Mordor to pay homage to the Dark Lord. Striking and almost black against his porcelain skin they were. Elrond shivered.

_‘Now those… are the brows of a true King. I can’t believe how much they’ve grown…!’_

“Oh, by the way!” Glorfindel’s voice snapped Elrond out of his thoughts. “Do you trim your eyebrows? They’re pretty massive.”

“No.” Thranduil replied with a serene, somewhat exasperated tone. “It is not in our culture to do so.”

“We prefer to condition them with oils and the like.” said Legolas, showing a tiny jar to Glorfindel. “Keeps things shiny.”

Elrond cleared his throat, trying not to choke on his own tongue. “Ahem. May we start now?”

 

~~

 

 

Much was discussed at Elrond’s council and it went on long into the night, until Elrond found himself falling asleep. Elves really _could_ talk forever. Celeborn was comparing his eyebrows with Legolas, while Erestor leaned on Glorfindel, whispering to him. Galadriel and Thranduil were trying to keep from getting into an argument, and Elrond noticed how Thranduil’s gaze flicked to him from time to time. He squinted, his entire face scrunching up in a show of supreme constipation. Thranduil rose from his seat. Elrond followed the Elvenking’s movements all the way until he went cross-eyed. Thranduil held out a hand.

“You look tired. Perhaps it is best you retire for the evening?”

_‘What, because I’m a few hundred years older than you, you think I can’t stay up late?’_ Elrond’s thoughts furthered his expression until Thranduil’s gentle fingers touched the side of his face.

“Come now. I shall join you, if you like.”

Such a request from someone he barely knew was odd for Elrond, but he was in no mood to deny the last Elvenking of Middle-Earth anything at all. He walked with Thranduil until he reached his own bedroom, and turned around. All he could see was the black stripiness of Thranduil’s brows upon his ghostly pale skin.

“I… forgive me, mellon nín. I cannot entertain you tonight.”

“I think you can…” said Thranduil, and leaned in until his eyebrows consumed Elrond’s vision. Elrond was met with the sensation of ascending to a higher plane of existence and it was then that he knew what it meant to be _real_. The bushy strands of hair in Thranduil’s brows scratched at him, soon turning into a caress and probe for further contact. Elrond gripped the sides of Thranduil’s face and felt only _more_ eyebrows, multiplying, quivering, enveloping his entire being.

The hairy situation had only just begun.

**Author's Note:**

> lmao


End file.
